Never Have I Ever
by Meridian1
Summary: Getting to know you, Nightstalker style. Rated for language, inferences, and alcohol use (pre Blade: Trinity).
1. Round 1

Title: Never Have I Ever

Author: Meridian

Rating: PG-13 (adult talk and inferences)

Author's Notes: I must confess I was inspired by Morri's Shadow's "Royal Flush" for this one. What's a Nightstalker night off if not an excuse to get silly with some of the characters from _Blade: Trinity_? Just a little juvenile fun and maybe a little character study. Maybe.

* * *

Abby hadn't had more than one or two legal drinks in her life, and only a handful before that. In her tenure with the Nightstalkers, the group had maybe imbibed alcohol together maybe once. Dex kept a flask on him, a gift from his father, but, to the best of her knowledge, it had nothing more offensive than holy water. What should have been alcohol was a weapon instead. Hedges never drank, and Sommerfield had Zoe to mind; it was hardly good parenting to drink a lot around a small child. 

King, on the other hand, thought they were all nuts and kept the fridge well-stocked at all times with beer, the occasional malt, and the freezer had not one but two liters of vodka chilling in it. His mission in life, besides killing vampires, was in re-educating them where liquor was concerned. To that end, he declared the next slow work night to be the first lesson, which resulted in their current situation. He'd planned it pretty carefully, distracting Zoe with a new video game all day, tiring her out in a playground session at the nearest park to the base, and even putting her to bed to spare Sommer the trouble. That done, the lesson was about to begin.

"So, are we drinking to anything?" Hedges eyed the setup on the table before them. A golden colored liquor in a clear, unlabeled bottle stood in the center of the table surrounded by five shot glasses, a salt shaker, and some limes.

"Not drinking _to_, Hedges." King produced beer from beneath the table. "Something light to start, and maybe we'll get to the fun stuff later." He passed a green bottle to her, nodding for her to pass it on. Abby handed it to Sommer, but when she moved to pass it off, King told her not to. "That one's yours, doc."

"What is it?" Sommer felt around the bottle, her deft fingers plucking at the wet label.

"It's a Rolling Rock," Abby told her as she accepted the next offering from King. It was a Guinness. "Who's this for?"

"Dex." She passed it over to him as King retrieved a malt. "Mike's for Hedges."

"I'm not a fan of..."

"...anything that isn't digital or have tits, I know," King patted Hedges' arm sympathetically. "Trust me." Surprisingly, Hedges accepted the bottle, inexpertly twisting off the top with his shirt. "Ah-ah," King wagged his index finger at Hedges when he brought the neck close to his lips. "Not yet."

"There're _rules_ to drinking? Isn't the point just to get shit-faced?"

"All in good time," King promised, bringing out from the cooler the last two bottles. He kept a Molson Ice for himself and handed her a Heineken. "Everyone set?" He glanced around the table. Abby half-heartedly twisted off her cap, setting the bottle down expectantly. Gentleman that he was, Dex opened Sommer's for her before opening his own.

"What're we doing?"

"Getting to know each other," King said, enigmatically. "We're going to play a game."

"Ooh," Sommerfield almost giggled, startling the rest of the table. Her grin was enthusiastic. "Which one?"

"Never Have I Ever, Sommer. You know the rules?" King beamed at the pretty doctor; she might play at proper mom for Zoe's sake, but he'd found out the party girl and kindred spirit when Sommer, flushing slightly, nodded. "Superb. You explain then."

"God, this is juvenile." Sommer _did_ giggle this time.

"Yeah, it's been years for me, too. Go on," King invited her.

"Ah, let's see," Sommer drummed her nails on the table. "You go around the circle, and everyone says something that starts with 'I Never' then something. If the people at the table _have_ done it they drink? Is that right?"

"With this crowd, no one's going to get drunk unless we talk shop, maybe we should reverse it," King rolled his eyes.

"Hey," Abby interjected, offended. "We _do_ have lives, King. Let's play the right way." What the hell? It sounded fun. "What kind of things are we talking about?"

King shrugged. "Anything. Everything. You just have to answer honestly until you're out of booze-not going to a problem with you guys, I'm thinking-or we're all piss drunk."

"I might have to pass," Hedges mumbled. King thumped him hard on the back.

"Come on, it'll be interesting, I promise." They shared a look, Hedges' doubtful, King's conspiratorial. "Think about it, Hedges. What's one thing you wish you could ask Abby?" They both looked at her, Hedges wondrous and intimidated, King scandalous and gleeful. "She has to be honest, too," he added.

"If you put it like that," Hedges smiled at her, but his eyes darted to Sommerfield. The whole crew knew Sommerfield was the wilder of the pair of gorgeous women in their cell, back in her glory days. And a lot of those stories didn't come out when Zoe was around. This was a golden opportunity.

Abby cleared her throat, seeing all too well where this was going. "I'll start then." Thinking quickly, she came up with, "I never slept with someone more than ten years older than me."

King sighed dramatically, saying, "Figures. I'm an easy target," and took a sip of his beer. Hedges and Dex both grinned but didn't touch their bottles. Their grins widened into gaping expressions of shock when Sommerfield lifted her brew and sipped. King stared at her, intent and impressed. "Sommerfield."

"Yes?"

"I want details."

"That's not part of the game."

"It's not?" Hedges pouted. "Can we change the rules?"

"Yep," King recovered smoothly. "If people ask for details, you can spill or you can drink."

"Not fair," Sommerfield scrunched up her lips into a moue intended to garner sympathy. All it did was encourage her audience. "Abby, back me up."

"I don't know," she thought aloud. "I might want details on some of them later, Sommer. Plus, you can always drink." Until her tolerance gave out, but that might spare her some embarrassment as Sommer's tolerance would probably last only as long as the bottle in front of her.

"I'm outnumbered then, I take it?" Sommer didn't wait for an answer before sipping. "There, moving on. I'm next, I believe." She paused, pursing her lips. "I've never masturbated thinking about a fictional character. And you have to tell me who drinks because, in case you hadn't noticed, I can't see." She giggled again. Did liquor go to your head that fast?

"I'm drinking," King said at once, doing so. Hedges mumbled something to the affirmative. Dex didn't, Sommer did, and she had to, too. "That's everyone but Dex."

"Details," Sommerfield demanded.

"Who?"

"Everyone," her head turned vaguely in Abby's direction.

"Mr. Darcy," Abby said, unabashed. "God, the pond scene."

"Chick stuff," King groused. "Witchblade."

"Who's that?"

"Comic book babe, Whistler. Bad-ass, ill-tempered, little bit skanky. You'd love her." She flipped him the bird, but he shrugged it off.

"Nice one," Hedges complimented him. "Let's see. There's Lara Croft, that's pretty standard. Carmen Sandiago, back in the day." He shook his head. "There are a lot. Anyway, Dex's turn."

Dex mulled over his question for a moment, then said, "I never enjoyed killing another human being." Everyone except for Sommerfield drank. "I'm not surprised," Dex commented for Sommer's benefit. "Looks like you're the only one who's truly super-human, Sommer."

"I'm the only one who can't do it, that's all." She formed a gun with her thumb and index finger. "I'd have killed my husband if I'd had the chance." Sommerfield's husband had tried to sell her and Zoe out to a vampire as proof of his loyalty. Her feelings were understandable. "Who did you like killing?"

"My boss," Hedges said.

"My sister-in-law," Dex contributed, the one who'd killed his brother as another vampire tribute. He didn't_ look_ like he enjoyed it in retrospect, and, as if sensing this, Sommerfield reached out to pat his leg. He squeezed her hand, appreciatively.

"That familiar from Texas-you remember," Abby told the room at large. King looked confused, so she explained. "He pinned me and broke my iPod."

"And that's it?" When she nodded, he whistled, lowly. "Woe to he who breaks Whistler's toys."

"And you?"

"No comment," King took another sip, avoiding her gaze and nodding at Hedges. Weird. She wouldn't have expected him to be the one holding back. "Hedges, your turn."

"I've never fantasized about a person in this room." Not surprisingly, everyone drank, and the room fell into a uncomfortable quiet. Hedges laughed, weakly. "I don't suppose anyone wants to volunteer details?" No, no one did. Everyone obediently took another sip of their drink. They weren't drunk enough for that question.

Yet.


	2. Round 2

_Never Have I Ever-Round 2_

* * *

"My turn, then," King rubbed his hands together. She'd lost track of the rounds, but King was on his third bottle already. "Never have I ever broken the law." Dex snorted, saluting King with his drink before downing a healthy sized gulp. Hedges followed suit, as did she, but Sommer hesitated. 

"Are we talking ever or just in this group?"

"Ever, and I'll want details on that again, Sommer."

"Eat crow, then," Sommer sipped twice.

"It'll be more fun if you share," King whined, petulant, before taking his sip. "I'll share if you will." Without waiting for Sommer to comment, he went on, "I got arrested for public indecency once."

"What?"

"Fucking puritanical bullshit," King shook his head, aggrieved. "My girlfriend went down on me in a mall." The men at the table regarded King like some sort of deity come to Earth. Sommerfield giggled, a tad too knowingly, and Abby could only gape at him.

"You're serious?"

"In Starbucks, of all places."

Dex guffawed at this. "She needed a shot, huh?"

"A mugshot," Abby snapped. "Jesus, King, you're a degenerate."

"I try," he mugged at her. "Wanna make that two counts, Whistler? After three, I hear you're out in this country."

"Eat me."

"Yeah," King smiled, wistfully, "That'd do, too."

"I got a traffic violation," Sommerfield said out of nowhere. Her cheeks were red as she played with the label on her second bottle.

"That's hardly law breaking," Hedges pouted.

"We were pulled over on the emergency shoulder," Sommerfield elaborated, all the men at the table sitting up and leaning closer as she spoke. "Apparently, illegal parking was the worst the cop thought he could do to us without dying of embarrassment. Kind of him, really."

"Oh, to be a fly on that windshield." King shook his head. "But we must move on. Your turn again, Whistler."

Her mind reeling, Abby tried to think of what she could possibly say that would lead to as interesting a series of revelations as had just come out. "I've never," she began, changed her mind, and finished, "I've never cheated on my partner."

There was a rush of protests all around the table. Sommerfield mumbled to herself, while Hedges sputtered and Dex grumbled something about 'the bitch deserving it.'

"Define 'cheat,'" King prodded.

"Romantic pursuit with a person other than a person you were seeing, dating, fucking, whatever. And be honest," she admonished the room at large, boldly taking the first sip while they still mitigated to themselves.

"Details," King demanded. "And none of that second drink bullshit, Whistler."

"Nothing much to it," she said, briskly. "I had a boyfriend in high school, and the guy I really liked became available at a party." She was aware of attentions coming sharply to focus on her. "What?" She glowered, sensitive and defensive.

"More," Hedges begged. "Kissing? Over-the-bra, under-the-shirt touching? Bases? Give us something, Abby."

"Enough to count as cheating, that's all you get," Abby denied him. "Who else has to drink at this table? Come on, fess up."

"I'm going to need another drink at this rate," Sommerfield pouted, sipping once, then twice to make a point. No one asked her to elaborate. Dex drank, Hedges frowned. King, however, was the most conspicuous of the two non-drinkers.

"Hold up," Abby turned on him. "You're honestly telling us you've _never_ cheated on a person you were dating?"

"Never," he feigned shock, which was ruined by his smugness. "Don't look so surprised, Abby. I have standards. They may be low, but they're not as low as _yours_." She bristled at this, unable to deny it. "Never have I ever," he tipped his beer at her.

"I'm with Abby," Sommerfield commented, "I don't believe you either."

"I'm playing level with you guys. I've got nothing to hide." And, so far, he hadn't, really.

"We'll see," Sommerfield said, cryptically. "My turn." She tapped her finger on her lip, thinking. "I've never broken someone's heart." Sommerfield took a sip almost before she finished. Dex knocked his Guinness against Sommer's bottle, swigging. Hedges shrugged at her, and Abby didn't touch hers either. They turned, as one, to King, who was in the process of draining his bottle dry.

"I figure one sip for each offense," he explained with a wry smile.

"You're exaggerating." She scoffed at him while he fished for a fresh brew.

"And you're lying."

"Excuse me?"

"Actually, he's right," Hedges jumped in. "You break hearts, Abby. Take my word for it." King chuckled, but Hedges appeared somewhat serious. For his sake as much as her own, Abby chose to pretend it had been a joke, as King did, and rolled her eyes dramatically as she took a sip.

"Dex, you're up."

"I've never betrayed a friend's confidence." Dex drank, as did Hedges and Sommer, but Abby caught King's eye and resolutely kept the bottom of her bottle flush to the table. He didn't drink either, damn him.

"Hedges?"

"I never told a lie to get laid." Finally, after a few rounds dry, Hedges got to drink, almost proud of such a low achievement. Dex snorted, Sommer, too, sharing a private laugh at Hedges' expense. Abby noticed King staring at her, and, leaning his head into his hand, he turned so that only she could see him wink. He cleared his throat to call attention to himself as he chugged his beer.

He was _lying_. She knew it at once. For Hedges' benefit, of all things.

"What lie did you tell to get laid, King?" Dex didn't sound as if he bought it.

"What's this?" Sommer perked up. "Mr. Mall Security Violation has to _lie_ for a fuck?" She giggled, stamping her heels. A few too many rounds, too many years without serious drinking, and their resident scientist was already halfway gone. "_De-_tails."

"I told her I had a nine-inch dick," King quipped.

"And that's a lie?"

"Yep. It's actually a foot-long."

Abby pursed her lips tightly to keep from laughing, flushing when King glanced at her. He caught her right as she let her mind wander and wonder just how long..._ahem_, she cut herself off and resumed a playful indifference. His eyes sparkled with mischief, as if surmising her train of thought, but he said nothing, speaking next to Hedges.

"Hedges, I'm guessing, didn't have to spare the poor girl's feelings."

"Nope, but I had to pay for it," Hedges jived right back. A genial guffaw escaped Dex, and Sommer hiccupped giddily. "Your turn, King."

"Never have I ever propositioned my coworker." Here, he cast a significant glance at her, rubbing the label of his beer with his index finger, slowly, back and forth, just the _tip_ of his finger. Abby missed watching who drank, knowing only that King did not because he couldn't move while she watched. Back and forth, _back and forth_...

"_Abby_," Sommer hissed, finally getting her attention. Starting, she sat up straighter, looking from Hedges to Dex to Sommer and back down at the table.

"Somebody's got a secret," Hedges swooned, salivating. "I think we need to include future proposals in that one."

"Agreed," King said, jovially, with a hint of gravitas. Working up her nerve, resettling her steely resolve, Abby looked him in the eye over the neck of the bottle as he drank to this new condition. _You wish_, she flashed, silently, purposefully not raising hers and doing the same. _Just wait_, he dipped one eyebrow and raised the other. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted, Danica Talos notwithstanding. "Take it away, Whistler," he invited her.

"I never regretted sleeping with someone." Everyone but her drank. "You're kidding me," she rolled her eyes, "All of you are _that_ loose?"

"Does my husband count?" Sommer sneered. "I don't regret having Zoe, but I regret that she was his." Dex rubbed her shoulders, soothing her with soft undertones meant only for her ears.

"Wow, Sommer," King breathed out in a rush, "you're good at this."

"Come on, Abby," Dex frowned at her, "You mean you've _never_ wished you hadn't slept with someone?"

"Yes."

"That means she's gotten laid once," King jabbed a solemn Hedges with his elbow. "Twice, tops."

"That's not the question," she barked at him, gruffly. And it wasn't. "Moving on," she waited for Sommer to continue on around the circle.

"I've never played a stupid drinking game as an excuse to be bawdy," Sommer smiled, sadly.

"Amen," Dex tipped his beer to hers again, as did Hedges.

"What if I played as an excuse to flirt?" King played innocent, cupping his chin in his hands.

"That counts," Sommer giggled.

He drank.


	3. Round 3

_Never Have I Ever - Round 3_

The game continued on into the night, but by the time she wondered what time it _was_, Abby couldn't read her watch. For only the second time in her life, she was wasted. Before them on the table, they'd racked up over twenty empty bottles. Sommer had five and was swimming in her seat, remaining upright through a combination of miracle, will, and Dex's support. Dex had a modest four and seemed pleased with himself; Hedges had two and did not. She had three, and was on her fourth, unless her eyes were deceiving her- and they were, as much of the table pulsed in and out of focus.

King had them all beat at six and still counting, his seventh sliding down his throat as she watched, a confession to Sommer's "I never have never been used for sex." Abby blinked dry eyelids, incredulous as he shoved away his seventh and, unfazed, reached for his eighth and, with a rapt audience, proceeded to chug the whole thing.

"And that," he toasted the eighth bottle as it rolled away from him, "was only for Danica."

"You're _drunk_," Sommer slurred.

King ignored her, and the game played on, with him switching to the tequila for a couple of rounds. Vaguely, Abby heard the words "I never," and let her brain run on autopilot. It was easier to be truthful when good and thoroughly smashed.

_ I never slept with my friend's girlfriend or boyfriend. _Dex, her, Sommer.

_ I never slept with a member of the same sex. _Sommer and King. This woke her out of her stupor.

"Details," Abby said to King at the same time as Hedges and Dexshouted the same at Sommer.

"Ladies first," King graciously allowed.

"Let's see," Sommer tapped her lip.

"Oh God, more than once, thank you, thank you, God," Hedges prayed, setting Sommer to giggling drunkenly.

"I made out with a lesbian friend of mine. We fell asleep on her couch." Hedges looked crestfallen at this news, and Sommer could tell by his despondent sigh that she had disappointed. "_What_? You said 'slept'! I was be-being literary."

"Literal, baby," Dex cooed to her, brushing her hair with the back of his hand.

"Literal," Sommer hiccuped. "But I'm not the only one who had to drink, right?"

"That's right," Abby nodded, and all heads turned in King's direction. Hedges and Dex both appeared confused. King had racked up bottle after bottle on females. Where had _this_ come from? Sommer, however, seemed as keen and as interested as she was. "Spill, King."

"Are you a top or a bottom?" Sommer babbled, trilling.

"Bottom!" Hedges barked, laughing. King shrugged, taking the comment on the chin, shifting and moving his chair closer to Hedges. Abby sniggered as Hedges blanched and backed away-if he wasn't careful, he was in for a beating.

"I'm neither," King dismissed the question and drank, but they weren't letting him get off so easily.

"You slept with a dude," Dex said, flatly.

"Sure."

"As in Sommer-slept-with-a-girl or as in took-a-shot-in-the-mouth?"

Unfazed, as ever, King replied, honestly, "As in had sex with another guy."

"More," Abby thumped her beer bottle on the table.

"No," he said, glancing at her, "If all we get is 'enough to count as cheating' from you, Whistler, all you get is 'enough to count as sex' from me." Sommer groaned and pouted. "Turnabout's fair play, ladies." Though he laughed, Abby felt distinctly unnerved; it wasn't just revenge. Maybe it was the beer messing with her head, but he wasn't happy-smiling, was he?

"Uh, where were we?" Hedges cut in, eager to get back on track. Abby resumed listening to the game with only half an ear, her mind still working away at the mystery flicker of wrongness in her partner's whole demeanor.

_ I never dropped E._ All but Hedges.

_I never fucked someone whose last name I never knew._ Her, Dex, Sommer. Then, _I never fucked someone whose name I didn't know period. _Just Dex. He took the catcalls and whooping with stylish modesty, assuring them all it was only once, and doubly reassuring Sommer who appeared put out about this revelation.

_ I never fucked more than one person at the same time. _King.

The reverence returned to Hedges and Dex's faces at this revelation. He elaborated with the names of two girls from the sister-sorority of his frat at college, miming with his hands a few of the positions they'd assumed, exaggerating the length of the session, generally giving too many details for her to keep track of. Then, he started in on the _second_ time he'd been in a party of more than two, and Hedges just about burst a blood vessel in his forehead before Sommer demanded they move on.

"Or else we'll be here all night."

"You're not wrong about that, Sommer." More hooting and mock bows in King's direction.

_ I never wanted to be a vampire_-that one sobered the inebriated crew in a bad way until King countered it with "Never have I ever liked what I do for a living," where they all drank, heartily, lustily, earnestly.

Most of the 'I never's continued to revolve around sex, thereby lightening the mood, though the occasional biographic probe might pop up. _I never had a sibling. I never lost a family member-_everyone drank to that. _I never lost a loved one to a vampire_. It went right back down the lewd track, however, and stayed there. In a short period of time, Abby learned and forgot things about her friends she really didn't need, and in some cases, want, to know. Dex cleaned up on the drugs and guns questions, Hedges on the masturbation ones, Sommer on sex, King on anything and everything.

"Never have I ever wanted to know this much about any of you," Abby groaned, dropping her head, squinting at her watch pointedly.

"_Abby_," Sommer whined, "it's not your turn."

"And it's only just after midnight, Whistler," King informed her, tilting her wrist towards him so he could read it. He had his own watch but seemed preoccupied with using hers instead.

"Pissed out of my mind this early," Abby mumbled into the table. "So lame."

The game didn't stop because of inebriation. Hedges egged them on, wanting desperately to catch up. His 'I never's skewed to the increasingly personal, but, fortunately, alcohol took the edge off his embarrassment and theirs for him. It meant he caught up, and that was okay.

"I've never watched hard core porn with another person." Hedges choked on his beer as he attempted to drain his something-th bottle. Sommer coughed as beer went up her nose, Dex tending to her with a firm but gentle pat on the back. His hand stayed on her shoulder, massaging it, and the poorly drunk doctor leaned into his arm. The game went on while its first victim, Sommer, snored.

_I never had sex in a car. _All but Hedges.

_ I never walked in on a relative. _All but her.

_ I never did it in a theater, in a school, in a church-_-and, boy, had King gotten her sourest look for drinking on that last one; she'd debated slapping him, but she rather figured he'd enjoy it. He seemed to enjoy just about anything and everything else, as they'd discovered.

_I never did it in a bathroom, on someone else's bed, outdoors, in a pool, standing up, on the floor, with toys, role-playing, while someone else slept in the room_, and so on. Here, there, everywhere. With green eggs and ham.

Dex excused himself when Sommer woke, disoriented and sickly. Sympathetically, they all wished her well, until Sommer turned as Dex was helping her to the toilet and flashed them all a brilliant smile and a thumbs up. Her wobbly legs worked a little too well at stumbling such that she fell against Dex every other step. They disappeared from sight, and the bathroom door slammed shut, the whump of it reverberating in Abby's skull.

Hedges clapped his hand over his heart. "God bless her." Before she could make sense of the import behind his words, there came a decidedly dirty series of thumps from the bathroom, and one high-pitched giggle-squeal. Hedges sighed, drinking outside of the game and toasting his beer in the direction of the noises.

Abby gawked at him. "They're not doing what I _think_ they're doing, are they?"

"Princess," Hedges' head jerked about in a drunken approximation of disbelief. "They've _been _doing what you think they're not doing."

Stunned, she looked at King for confirmation. He shrugged. "That's what I figured."

"How the hell come no one tells _me_? Sommer's my best friend!" She shrieked, and King placed a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to keep it down. Impossible. She knew Sommer better than anyone else save, maybe, Zoe. No way. This was alcohol and hormones, raised to untenable levels by the stupid game. Which was stupid fucking King's fault. No way some new guy knew more about her friends than her, and she would prove it.

She jumped unsteadily to her feet but swatted at King when he shot out an arm to support her. The world spun around her as momentum carried her body along the trajectory of her missed hook. Instead of an unpleasant thud, she landed with a soft grunt, not her own, and King was above her. Or, two of him were, and wasn't that a frightening thought? Two Kings. Heaven help her.

"Easy there, Whistler. I think you've had enough."

"Bastard," she jerked around in his arms, freeing her hand and slapping him full in the face. King took the blow with the good humor of the sober dealing with the drunk and without releasing her. He readjusted, shifting under her, one arm looping under her knees and dragging her up to sit on his lap.

"Let me go," she ordered, still squirming. King's unwelcome aid, Sommer's secret love affair, it was all too much. And the only way she knew how to respond when things were too much was to hurt someone.

"As the lady wishes," King acquiesced, picking her up, princess-style, like what Hedges called her. With great care, he deposited her back in her seat, straining as she flopped against him. Back in her chair, the world moved a little more slowly around her, and she could almost center herself. She gripped her beer, half-empty, and laughed. Half-empty. Her mother always said she'd been a born pessimist.

"If I weren't such a gentleman," Hedges leered across the table at her, "I'd take advantage of this, Abby."

"You'd wake up with no testicles, Hedges." Maybe Sommer liked getting into that kind of trouble while drunk, but not her. That's what it had to be. Too much drink, Dex's kind solicitation all evening, that explained it. It didn't have to be a long-term romance or serial tryst. Right?

"I don't doubt it," he muttered. To King, he said, "Where were we?"

"I don't think you're that much better off than her, man. But it's your turn if you want to prove otherwise."

Hedges did, and Abby closed her eyes as he deliberated on another 'I never' to pose to their reduced group. In the foggy silence, a loud clatter from the bathroom could be heard clearly. Hedges giggled to himself.

"I've never filmed others having sex." He didn't drink at first, but when another series of thuds from the opposite end of the base filled up the pause, he raised his bottle to his lips. "But I might have to start."

"Come on, Hedges, you can do better than that," King goaded him, drinking and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Never have I ever filmed myself having sex." He swilled down his ninth bottle. "Damn, I'm out."

"Hah," Abby pointed a finger that moved wildly of its own accord from his face to his chest to his arm. "You're drunk, too."

"No, Abigail," King shook his head, the motion a blur. "I mean I'm out of beer."

"Have mine," she swung her arm around, the one with the bottle. He caught it, easily, before her clumsy fingers could send it toppling and spilling into his lap.

"Thanks," he set it aside and waved the amber tequila at her. "I've got more." She let her head fall onto her arms; the swinging bottle made her dizzy, and the world kept spinning when she closed her eyes, making it worse. In the swirling dark behind her eyelids, she could still imagine Dex and Sommer, could picture it, twenty-twenty hindsight, the works. How could she _not_ have known? It made her green just thinking of it.

How could she not have known...


	4. Game Over

_Never Have I Ever-Round 4_

Sometime later, she heard King say, "I think I better make a runner with Abby."

She opened her eyes to glower at him. "I'm fine."

"Welcome back, Whistler. And I was talking to Hedges, not you."

She blinked at him, unable to bring either he or Hedges into focus and settling for squinting at her watch. The long hand was definitely not pointing up at twelve. Two? Three? Three-thirty? Already? She'd only closed her eyes for second, she would have sworn. There had been weird images there, ones her now-conscious brain self-protectively shied away from revealing.

Hedges stared at the ceiling, swaying, a smile tickling his lips. "You think she's gonna be sick or frisky?"

"Sick," King answered, raising himself up out of his seat. She felt him circle behind her, but once he moved a little way out of her sight, she lost him in the shadows clouding her vision. But his breath, heavy with alcohol tinged with lime from the tequila shots, tickled her neck as he leaned over her. "Come on, Abby. We've got to get you outside before you ralph."

"Why outside?" She didn't fight him as he hooked his arms under hers and hauled her up, merely collapsed backwards against his chest. "Why outside?"

"Because the bathroom's busy."

"Why?" She already couldn't remember; all she did know was it was upsetting.

"The plumber's here," King breathed in her ear. "Hedges, clean up duty?"

"Uh-uh," Hedges crossed his arms, throwing a tantrum. "You get the babe, I get the bottles? Hardly seems fair. You started this." Hedges pushed himself away from the table, ready to take a stand against this perceived injustice. Instead, he fell over backwards in his chair. Abby watched as, in slow motion, Hedges toppled; she felt King instinctively start towards him to try and catch him before remembering he had her weight to support.

"Hedges?"

"Okay," came a wheezy little voice somewhere across and under the table. "You get the girl this time."

"Thanks, Hedges," Abby said, feeling as though she owed him, even if she didn't know why.

"You're welcome, Abby. Feel better."

King paused, quietly assessing the situation. "You need a trip to the pier, too, Hedges?"

It took him a while to answer. "Yes."

"You need help?"

"Very possibly."

"Shit," King swore, struggling closer to the table. He swept a few of the bottles out of the way, and Abby followed in his arm, occupying the space he'd cleared. On her back, she lolled her head to the side, watching King walk around the table and reach down. His arm dipped out of sight and reappeared with another attached to it; with much effort on his part, he dragged Hedges up from the floor.

"The King bone's connected to the Hedges' bone," she sang, happily. Somewhere, a voice in her head was berating her and part of her was dying from embarrassment she couldn't feel. Hedges grinned goofily, and King raised that eyebrow again, the one that meant he was laughing at someone- Hedges, probably. He wouldn't _dare_ laugh at her.

Hedges seemed okay on his feet, but the short trip to the hard ground had turned him an ugly shade of green. "Excuse me," he backed away and bolted for the outside door. Abby threw her head in the opposite direction and watched him push through the door and keep running.

"_Goddamnit_, he's gonna end up in the fucking river," King growled, checking her over, then, having determined she wasn't going anywhere, took off at a fast jog after Hedges. Somewhere at the border between encompassing darkness, she could see two blobs collide, one falling, one upright. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut tight and counting to thirty, skipping a few of the less important numbers, seven, sixty-five, ones like that. She lost count and started again, whispering numbers at random until she lost the sound of her voice to the buzz in her brain.

When she opened her eyes again, the blobs outside were gone. She lifted her shoulders up, tearing them away from the sticky surface of the table, outstretched arms knocking a few bottles over. Still on the table and alone.

"Sorry," a voice came from the top of her head. She tilted her chin up, arching her back to see who it was. The face-shape was pale, so it wasn't Dex, and the hair was short, so it wasn't Sommer. It had a funny outline, darker on the bottom, dark like on top. Not Hedges.

"King," she held up her arms, fingers reaching towards him, the tips grazing the coarse and prickly hairs of his beard.

"Right here," he leaned over her, large hands cupping her underarms and sliding her backwards along the table.

"How long was I out?"

"About twenty minutes this time. I had to make sure Hedges was through, and you looked like you'd be okay for a while." From this angle, she could see the cleft in his chin beneath his beard, and his necklace hit her on the forehead, swinging as he pulled her up and off the table. He balanced her weight against his chest, and her head fell over his shoulder. "Easy, Whistler," he said, softly, as she sunk into his support. Her limbs felt twitchy and heavy all at once, as if vibrating under pressure. "We need to dunk you, too?"

She snorted. "Hedges fell in?"

"Not quite, but almost."

Closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, she shook her head against his shoulder. "Just need some fresh air. Not sick," she tried to communicate. Wasted she might be, with the evening's events and revelations slipping through the stop-gaps of her memory, but she couldn't feel any rising bile or esophageal spasms. Wind in her face, some cold water, a good night's sleep, she'd be fine. King walked them both outside, grabbing his leather jacket from the hanger by the door and draping it around her as they emerged into the cool night air.

"Mmm."

"Better?"

"Yes," she inhaled the spray from the waves, fumes from the city across it, her own scent, riddled with alcohol, King's much the same. She found balance in the way the wind moved, providing her with external clues to direction that she trusted more than she did her eyes. She let them fall to half-mast, keeping them open only a fraction as she felt her way to the end of the pier. King fell into step behind her, wary and certain all at once. She dropped her head back, squinting to look up at the stars; she couldn't see any and pretended this was because they were too close to the city.

"How come you aren't drunk?" She asked the sky.

King answered, "I weigh more than you do."

"Hedges weighs about the same as you. How come he's drunk?"

"Because the last time someone gave him a drink, it was communion wine."

She contemplated life, the universe, and this for an interminable period. King waited on her, silent and cautious; she regretted being so drunk as to be unable to truly appreciate this rare event. A responsible part of her brain howled about this stupid lapse of judgment, on all their parts. What if they were attacked? She ignored it. Plenty of time for it tomorrow. Tonight, there were only silly revelations, melodramatic betrayal and conflict, strange behavior all around- all of it coming back, mostly unwelcome, and minus alcohol-assisted and diminished embarrassment, hers or others. Poor Hedges. Fucking Sommer. Dex fucking Sommer. She tried not to think about it; she wasn't ready yet, still so sleepy and out of sorts. Poor Hedges. Concentrate on that. Poor, poor Hedges.

_Speaking of_...she rounded on King. "You lied for him."

His eyes were sharp and black in the low light. "What do you mean?" Guarded and innocent.

"Hedges," she hugged herself, grasping the oiled leather sleeves of his coat tightly around her body. "You lied for him."

King shrugged, sticking his hands under his armpits and stamping his feet. "Lied about lying. Double negative. So it's a sort of truth."

"You were nice to him, King," she said, as sure of it as she had been when it happened, that memory, unlike others, crystal in her mind.

"Am I going to be punished for that?"

"For lying or for being nice?"

"Either."

"No," Abby shook her head. "But you broke the rules. Aren't there some consequences for that?"

"Not really," King smirked. "It's just a game. Hedges is a poor loser, I'm a good winner."

"And so modest," she giggled, once. She walked back to him, spontaneously reaching out to take his hand. "Did you learn more about everyone?"

"Too much," King readily agreed. "How about you?"

She screwed up her nose in an expression of distaste. "I seem to remember Sommer and Dex-" King held up one finger, tapping it against her lips. Annoyed, she shook her head, smacking his hand away. "God, I can't believe I didn't know."

"Whistler."

Her blood was up now, a burgeoning hangover not helping matters. "All this time? And you knew, what, within days?"

"Yes, but, Whistler-"

"Damn it, I'm her _friend_." _We have to stick together, Abby, or the boys'll eat us alive_, Sommer had said. Too bad she didn't know Sommer meant that literally.

"_Whistler_," King whisper-shouted, finally shaking her from her self-absorption. "Forget about it. You're preoccupied with the job. If Sommerfield wanted you to know, you would have."

"Why wouldn't she want me to know?" She pouted, hugging herself. It was true what she'd said; Sommer was the closest friend she had among the Nightstalkers, and she hadn't known! Not a word, not a clue, not a raised eyebrow or lascivious comment out of place.

"Woman is a mystery," King shrugged, good naturedly.

She glowered mightily at him "Nice."

"Come on," he tried to guide her back inside, but she shook him off. "Whistler, you're drunk and you don't realize how cold it is out here." She blinked hard and realized her fogged-in vision was just from their hot breath coming in contact with frosty air. He was right - she couldn't feel the cold that must be all around them. Still hurt, confused, and a tad drunk, she let him push her towards the base. The thought of going back in, of sleeping only to wake sober in the knowledge that her best friend hadn't trusted her all this time...it was more than she could stomach, especially with her stomach wrenching about because of alcohol.

"Hey," she called over her shoulder.

"Hey what?"

"Let's have sex." She hadn't known she would say it until she did. Why not? If Sommer could traipse around with Dex, she could screw around with King. That was fair.

King was silent a moment. "You're drunker than I thought, Whistler."

"No, really." She leaned her head back against him as he moved to open the door for them and pressed her hips backwards against his. Her vision might be blurred, but she could hear him swallow thickly as she cupped his ass with both hands. "You want to, I know it, and I'm offering."

"Play nice, Abigail," King grunted, moving her hands away from him. She resisted his efforts to maneuver her indoors, bracing one arm across the doorway.

"Don't deny it." When this didn't stop him, she turned, all allure and seduction falling away as she poked him sharply in the chest. So, it was to be the direct approach. "You want to fuck me, so let's fuck."

"I want you to go to bed so I can go write this all down," he shook his head, smothering a smile. "This is blackmail material for life, Whistler."

"You come with me," she ordered, "I want to get laid."

He met her glare without flinching. "That's a very tempting offer, but I've got other plans for the rest of evening."

She lost her temper. All night, he'd flirted and teased as they'd gone over each other's personal lives with drink-induced indiscretion. Now, she was willing to give him what he wanted, and he was telling her no? She raised a hand to slap him again, this time more solidly and less drunkenly than before, but he caught her wrist before it could make contact with his cheek.

Enraged, she shrieked, "Who the _hell_ do you think you are, King?"

"Abby, _shhh_," he hissed, glancing around nervously.

"Don't you tell me to _shhh_! They're asleep!"

"Not in a few minutes they won't be." He made a placating gesture she could only just make out through hot tears welling up in her eyes. God, why was she _crying_? What was _wrong_ with her? King looked mortified by this development. "Okay, Jesus, I'm sorry, just don't-don't _cry_, okay?"

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" Huffily, sniffling and rubbing preemptively at her eyes, she walked through the door, burning with fury and shame. _What are you doing, Abby?_ She had no idea. All she knew was she'd just propositioned King, thrown his attraction in his face, all to get back at Sommer who wouldn't know or care if she did. It made no sense. This wasn't her.

"Hey," a voice whispered, close to her ear. She started as King hugged her one-armed around the shoulders from behind. How could he have snuck up on her like that? "Take it easy, tiger. Let's get you some water." Dumbly, she went loose in his arms as he led her to the couch, sat her on it, and left her for the kitchen. She barely registered him as being gone at all when he returned with a bottled water; she hated tap water, and he knew it. Absurdly, this caused her to cry in earnest, taking the water but unable to open it as she sobbed. When she felt the couch sink next to her, she collapsed against him, boneless and shuddering.

"You take this trust thing kinda seriously, huh?"

Through mucousy snorts, she laughed once, humorlessly. "I'm being such a bad drunk."

"Nah," King reassured her. "Now, Hedges, he's a bad drunk. He threw up on my shoes." Abby giggled despite herself, looking down at his dark boots which were covered in splotchy patches. "You're just a sloppy drunk." She felt something warm on her cheek and reached for it, closing her hand over King's where he brushed away her tears. "And a weepy one," he whispered as he hugged her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, unable to say it louder, too proud to. King, either ignoring or not hearing her, took the water, opened the cap and handed it back. She took a grateful gulp, swishing it around in her mouth to rid herself of beer's lingering acrid bitterness.

"Are you going to need more help, or are you fine until the hangover kicks in?" His hand was on her shoulder, rubbing, soothing. She heard a hum and realized it was coming from her, a contented, pathetic noise.

"I think it may already have," she whimpered, at once frustrated at how helpless she felt and too far gone to care. His body was warm against hers, tempting her into inebriated sleep once more, this time promising to be more comfortable than when she she'd fallen asleep at the table.

"I'll sit up with you a while, then," he offered, generously. He was being _nice_. Like with Hedges, only now with her. Her face felt thirty degrees too hot as she flushed with shame.

"No." She couldn't look at him. "Go to bed, King." He didn't argue, but he didn't leave. Her frustration flared as she scooted away from him, sullen from too much emotional abuse. "I've rescinded my offer, if that's why you're hanging around."

His tone was harsh, almost curt when he spoke next. "I never seduce drunken women, Whistler."

She laughed at this. "Never have I ever?"

"Mmm-hmm."

She finally risked a glance at his face. His eyes were mischievous but sincere, his lips neutrally pursed, waiting for her next reaction or outburst. It was too cute to be libidinous, and too sexy to be innocent. She had to touch him, to feel whatever was in him that made him look that way - as if his physical solidity would reveal his amorphous whimsy. She nudged him backward against the couch with her head. He took the hint, swinging his legs up onto the couch as she curled up, head on his arm, pressed bodily against his side.

A long few minutes passed, and, while soothed by his presence, she still felt awkward about lying with him like this despite his promise to behave. She had to say something, they couldn't just stay like this, her too strung out to sleep, him waiting on her to be sure she was all right. King wasn't looking at her; he just lay on his back, eyes on the ceiling, thumb stroking her upper arm idly.

"I've never been betrayed," she said softly, glancing up as far as his chin. The hard line of his lips eased into a half-smile; he mimed drinking. Pleased, she did the same.

"You weren't betrayed, Abby. She just didn't think you'd take it well, or something. Looks like she was right." She ignored his attempt to piss her offhe was trying to make her angry again so she'd let him go, so they could be friendly combatants again. So she didn't have to apologize. Well, she wasn't going to let herself off the hook as easily.

"I've never propo-proposicioned-"

"Propositioned?" He filled in, helpfully.

"I never propositioned anyone while drunk." She had to drink, but he, good to his word, did not move. "Never, huh?"

"Standards, Whistler. Look it up when you can spell again."

"I never hurt someone I didn't mean to." They both pretended to drink again. This time, King glanced at her quickly, nodded once to himself, and resumed staring up at the ceiling. Satisfied with this tacit arrangement, Abby nuzzled closer to him, edgy nerves calming, opening up to his soporific rhythms. She lost herself in the muffled noise of his breathing and his strong but muted pulse beating under her ear. He tugged the afghan off the back of the couch, draped it over them and resettled.

"So," he mumbled, the words rumbling in his chest, "tell me about cheating. I hear it's fantastic."

She laughed breathily, still sniffling. "You gotta try it."

"I'm tempted. Care to share?"

"Bases?"

"I'll take whatever you'll give me." Despite his seeming sobriety, he had had enough to drink to loosen his sharp tongue, to get a little sloppy. His words revealed more than he realized, and she was sobering up enough to know it.

"All the way," she whispered. "I wanted him, he wanted me, finally. It just clicked."

"And it didn't matter that you had a boyfriend?"

"No one tells me what I can and can't have," she hissed, fisting a handful of his shirt. "What about _you_?"

"What about me?"

"Who's the other man in your life?" When he inhaled sharply, she craned her neck up to look at him. The comfort and peace of lying together shattered in an instant upon seeing his expression. His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched, his eyes seemed lost under a heavy brow. She'd never seen him _that _angry before. Annoyed, hurt, frustrated, disappointed, maybe, but this? Never. Not even when talking about his tenure with the vampires..._Oh_.

"It happened at Danica's."

"It did," he said through his teeth, barely audible. Uncomfortable, embarrassed, she didn't know how to soothe away this hurt. Luckily, her silence had its usual effect; King abhorred a vacuum, and his mouth rushed to fill it. "Let's change the subject. What about them Lakers?"

Undeterred, she pushed on. "You can talk to me about this, if you want. Or not, that's okay," she reached across his body to squeeze his hand. "I'm being a real bitch tonight, and I know I'm not always..."

"Compassionate?"

"Something like that," she bristled, trying not to let it annoy her; all the others had said something like that at one time or another. "But I am your friend. I hope." She bit her lower lip, suddenly not so sure that this was the casewere they friends? They worked together, they generally got along, even if they weren't that close. That was still friendship, right?

"Yeah," King sighed, his chest sinking under her as he let out a full breath. "We're friends, Abby." She thought there was some disappointment there, but, given what she'd learned in just the past few seconds, it might have been any of a number of other pieces of psychological baggage. It was what made her worry most that they weren't friendsthey never shared the signposts and secrets of their lives before the Nightstalkers.

Well, that could change. Without the group interest in delving into the prurient, maybe he and she could be honest and interested, free of agenda or motive.

"King."

"Hmm?"

"Tell me a story about your life."

"Once upon a time, a handsome prince was accosted by a beautiful but temperamental princess."

She hit him in the arm. "_No_. From before. Tell me about what you were like growing up."

"Oh, that's easier," King scratched his chin, considering. "Once upon a time, a handsome prince - ow!" She'd hit him harder this time.

"Be serious, goddamnit." She rearranged herself, sitting up on one elbow to be able to look him in the eye. "Start from the beginning."

"You already know a lot of this. Didn't you guys compile a whole dossier on me?"

"Pretend we didn't. Fill in the gaps."

He didn't say no, though he regarded her skeptically. "Why?"

"Because I said so, and I'm your boss."

"Not gonna fly, Whistler. I need a better reason."

"Because I want to know."

"That's different," he said, his expression changing, becoming at once more and less bemused - more because she'd admitted curiosity about him, less because he intended to be painfully truthful. He took a deep breath, held it, eyes unfocused. After a long minute, he said, "Okay."

He started with his earliest memories which were around the time his sister was born, and, boom, she learned something new about him right away: he liked babies, always had. As he went on, more and more of his typical swagger and self-assuredness returned; that was no surprise - he had always liked talking about himself. Somewhere around his college years, she sank down next to him again, closing her eyes, listening half to his words and half to the synchrony of their breathing.

She didn't hear him finish.


	5. PostGame Show

_Author's Note: Well, thanks for bearing with me after the long delay on the last chapter. I was away celebrating my sister's wedding and before that had been stymied on how to end this baby. It refused to end on as light a note as it started, and I didn't want it to be all work and no play (which makes Abby a dull girl King a dull boy). Hopefully, though serious, it will be fun. Enjoy!_

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_Never Have I Ever - Post Game Show_

Sleeping in a room with five other people left little room for luxury just as a communal shower meant scant privacy. Abby knew Sommer muttered impressively polysyllabic words in her sleep. Zoe kicked off her blankets until she got cold, woke up, covered herself, fell back asleep, and kicked them off again. Dex slept on his side and used a sleep mask. Hedges snored wheezily when he slept on his back. In the two-three months since King had been added to that grumbling, kicking, vain, and snoring group, he'd yet to contribute his own quirk other than his ability to sleep through all the rest of theirs.

So when a gruff, thick, irregular snoring interrupted her at the shallowest point of her sleep cycle, Abby almost thought it was her fault. It would make sense; alcohol could do that to a person, and she was feeling what she'd had. Fucking carbonated beverages. Next time, she'd stick to water and fake it. Her skull throbbed in time to this _promise: never, never again, never, never again_. Against her wishes, she surfaced, expecting the snores to die off as she opened her eyes.

They didn't. She squinted, blinking sleep out of her eyes, trying to gauge her surroundings. She was downstairs in the de facto living room on the couch with the guilty snoring party unconscious beneath her.

"King," she breathed out, sighing, relieved, absurdly, that it wasn't her. With a smugness born of triumph, she contemplated elbowing him and pointing out to him how the drink had - belatedly but certainly - affected him as much as the rest of them. An interesting coda to an interesting evening.

However, that would mean waking him up while entwined with him. Sometime earlier in the morning she'd shifted, laying one leg over and between his, taking the afghan partially with her. He'd moved too, and his other leg rested atop her ankle. There were pins and needles shooting up and down her foot from the awkward position. Her left arm was trapped under him, and she was pressed between his body and the back of the couch. His arm went under hers and had at one point circled her waist; it was now limp behind her back, hand squeezed between her ass and the sofa. To say it looked suggestive would be an understatement.

On top of this, her head ached, her limbs were asleep or numb or else unresponsive, deadened and lead weight. She fell back down with a resigned sigh. Unless she found an inordinate amount of strength in her squirmy muscles, she wasn't going anywhere. King grunted when she collapsed back on his shoulder, turned his head away from her, made a few sloppy-sounding smacks, and went right on snoring.

With that ruckus, she would never sleep. Doomed to be awake, she drummed her fingertips on King's chest, trying to burn out what little energy she possessed. It was itchy, and ugly, and uncomfortable, this feeling - too much wakefulness to sleep, too much tiredness to move. She wiggled her fingers, rotated her free wrist and ankle, and hummed to herself.

So possessed by these small things, she missed King waking and the absence of his snores until he spoke. "Morning."

"Morning," she said back, still staring at the loop-de-loops her fingers made when she let them flop about while twirling her hand at the wrist.

"How you feeling?"

"Okay."

"Okay means you're your own Barnum and Bailey over there?" He sounded irritated; he caught her hand in his own, closing his fingers over hers and dropping their hands down against his chest. "Stop that."

"I was bored. You were sleeping."

"Well, I'm not now." Eyes closed, entire body supine with relaxation, it was hard to tell. "You do have your own bed, you know." He peeked open one eyelid, sliding a hazy brown iris in her direction. "Or do you like mine better?"

"This isn't your bed. It's the couch."

"Yes," King said, as though just realizing it. "I guess it is."

"You guess?" She couldn't keep a note of excitement out of her voice. Did he not remember? Too good to be true. So much for Mr. Can-Hold-His-Liquor.

"I remember."

"Do you really?"

"Sure. I got you some water, you were being flirty-"

"I was _not-_"

"And bossy. And _nosy_," King said breezily. "And I think I just babbled on and on until you stopped bugging me."

"You think?"

His answering smile might have been sheepish, but with his eyes closed it looked merely politely embarrassed. "I forget."

"You were drunk enough to forget? You seemed fine to me."

"Ah," King tut-tutted, "but you were _really_ drunk. I'm sure the purple penguins singing the Hedgehog Song looked fine to you, too."

"What penguins?" Like much of what King said, none of that made any sense.

"Guess it was just me who saw 'em then."

"I guess," she stammered, unsure of whom he was mocking here; he was an equal opportunity insult comic, and he was frequently the butt of his own jokes. "Do you remember telling me about-" she struggled, grasping for an anecdote other than _that_ one; she looked at his face and had it at once. "How you got that scar?" That had been a good story - a woman he'd approached in a bar hadn't taken his junior advances kindly and had slapped him with her engagement ring turned inwards. Impulsively, she slipped her hand from his and traced the scar on his cheek. It was a uniquely King story, but it lost something in the translation when she told it back to him.

King snorted. "That's not how that happened."

Confused, "But you said-"

"Abby, I finished off two six-packs and four shots last night. I'm sure I said a lot of things by that point."

"You seemed okay," she repeated dumbly. And he had; he'd taken care of Hedges, looked after her. Okay, so he'd been snoring like a champion not ten minutes ago, but he'd been _there_, he'd been _on_ before. "You really don't remember anything?" Her memory had been a little hazy, sure, but with effort, she could recall most of what she'd been awake for: _I never kissed a relative on the lips, I never drag-raced; I never smoked pot; I never, I never, I never_. King, Hedges, Dex and Sommer, it was all, more or less there.

"It happens," King shrugged, her head moving with his shoulders. "I'm usually fine, a little bit buzzed, then _bam_! I'm walking around with a tea cosy on my dick and offering cuppas to old ladies."

She giggled helplessly at the image that conjured up. "Is that for real?"

"My grandma's bridge club was giving the _funniest_ looks for weeks. I couldn't figure out what I'd done. Lucky for me, a few buddies of mine had pictures."

"So," she hiccupped, barely able to contain herself, "you black out?"

He sighed, the hand sandwiched between her and the couch coming to life, fingers wiggling against her pants. "Eventually. It takes a while, but it hits me like an ACME rocket. At the end of a long rubber band held by very patient Coyote." He smirked, "Meep-meep."

She buried her laughter into his shoulder, shuddering with it. Her imagination, unlike the rest of her, was working _better_ that its usual. Wile E. King, being socked by jumbo fireworks ridden by drunken worms wearing sombreros. Arriba! Maybe she could be Slowpoke Rodriguez. It was how she felt at present.

"Abby."

"Hmm?"

"You repeat any of that, and I'll tell about you sticking your hand in my pants last night."

"I did not," she groused, biting her lower lip. But he wasn't far off, and he knew it. Hesitantly, sobered by his teasing, she asked, "Do you not remember _anything_ we talked about?"

He was quiet a long while, and she'd given up hope of getting an answer when he murmured, almost inaudibly, "no." He kept his eyes closed, his expression unaffected; it was near impossible, despite the game attempts of her hyperactive imagination, to see the ugly and severe emotions that had decorated his features a few hours ago. "No," he said again, seeming at once contrite and bored, "I remember enough."

Okay, so he remembered some things, and she remembered some things. She listened to him breathing, regularly, so unlike the sounds that had woken her. The complaints of her body - the cramps, the lethargy, the queasiness - demanded her attention, distracted her from full comprehension for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch on between them until it was truly uncomfortable.

Lamely, she tried for neutral territory. "So, how did you get that scar?"

"Long story."

"I'm not going anywhere. You're lying on my arm."

"So I am," King nodded, uncrossing the leg lying atop hers and sitting up. "Better?"

"I'll let you know when I can feel it again." She flopped her arm about, ignoring the pricks and pulls as she watched King run his hands down his face, dragging the skin along and making his hang-dog expression even worse. "Are you as hungover as I feel?"

"Do you remember how you felt last night?"

"Yeah." Thankfully, she was better now. At least the world was staying still this morning - even if her brain felt like it was swimming and sloshing into the sides of her skull.

"Imagine last night multiplied by a lot."

"How much?"

"It's too early for mathematic acrobatics, Whistler. Just a lot." When he turned his head to look at her, she could see that his eyes were bloodshot.

"Painkillers?" She offered, sitting up, body protesting the whole way. King nodded and dropped his head onto one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. Shakily, Abby managed to get to her feet and wobble over to the bathroom. She willfully ignored the panties sticking out of the crumpled bath mat and jerked open the mirrored doors of the medicine cabinet one by one until she found a familiar looking blue-and-yellow-labeled white bottle.

The mug she kept for rinsing out after brushing her teeth was not in its usual spot by the hot water tap. She spotted it lying on its side on the floor next to a used condom. Someone had aimed for the waste bin and missed by a mile but _had_ managed to get it on the lip of her mug.

"Fuck me." Were they in their right minds, Sommer and Dex would probably not have chosen this means of revealing their relationship to Abby; but they'd been drunk, and had gotten careless or Abby would never have known at all. They were going to have to have quite a chat later. Still, Zoe was a perpetual early riser, and despite her anger with Sommer, she couldn't leave the evidence for the little girl to find. Zoe, thanks to Sommer's no-nonsense heart-to-hearts, knew exactly what that little lump of latex was for.

Abby fished out a washcloth, and, with it as a barrier, plucked up the condom and tossed it into the toilet. She flushed it, grabbed her mug off the floor, and carried it and the washcloth to the kitchen, dropping both in the sink. She snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and returned to King already dropping three turd-brown - God, what a mood she was in - ibuprofen tablets onto her palm.

"How many do you want?" King didn't look up, just held up his hand, open-palmed, and waited. She tipped five tablets onto his hand, popped hers into her mouth, swallowed them with some water, and handed the bottle over. He dry-swallowed the pills then chugged what was left of the half-liter bottle. She leaned against the empty gurney across from the couch.

"How do you feel?"

"I've been worse," he muttered, eyebrows low and slanted in an expression of pain. "This is nothing."

"Optimist," she said it like a curse. Last night multiplied by a lot was nothing? If she were still in the grips of last night's torture, she'd either be hurting everything and one in sight or curled up in a tight ball like she did when she had bad cramps. No way would she say it was 'nothing.'  
"The nice thing about rock bottom, Abby," King looked up finally. "Is that it's all uphill from there." He stared blearily at her, blinked, and said, "How mad are you at Sommer?"

"Oh, you remember _that_. Fantastic." She told him about the bathroom, the underwear, the bath mat, her mug, and the condom.

"Nice. Classy, our Sommer."

"I cleaned it up. No need for Zoe to see it."

"Or me, really." King leaned back against the sofa, letting out a puff of dust-tinged air. "You didn't answer my question."

Abby stared at her feet. Her shoes were still on. For some reason, this bothered her. "I don't know," she said at last.

"You were pretty mad last night. You took a swing at me."

"I _did_ hit you."

"Don't change the subject."

"Right," she took a deep breath, tilting her head up, spreading her arms out along the edge of the gurney and rolling her neck around to work the kinks out. "How mad am I?"

"I'd say 'very.'"

"No," she shook her head. Betrayal burned lowly, evaporating in the streaks on sunshine peeking in through the eastward windows. In such glorious light, hideous things like betrayal and hard feelings couldn't penetrate from the core to the surface, from the past to the present. "I'm not mad any more. I'm just a little hurt."

"And that was more than just a little understatement."

"I'm not lying. I'm really not mad any more." Mad was something she saved for vampires. She'd once returned from a hunt good and fuming because her mp3 player had been broken _and_ a familiar had gotten away. She'd put three arrows through one another at one of the targets on a fluke, barely even looking as she aimed. When King asked her about it, she'd told him she was mad. _I wouldn't like Abby when she's angry, got it_, and he'd left her to it. That was 'angry.'

King blinked in her direction, his eyes unfocusing, staring past her. "If you say so. Seems like you ladies should have a talk. Right, doc?"

She jumped, whirling about to see Sommer on the stairs in a loosely tied silk bathrobe. The normally well-groomed doctor appeared worse for last night's activities than Abby felt. Sommer's hair was a mess, her fingers trembled on the railing, and her posture suggested her knees might give out at any moment.

"Don't mind me," King waved at both of them before she or Sommer could find their voices. He resettled himself on the couch, rolling away from both of them and drawing the afghan up to his neck. While she agonized over what to say to Sommer, King's snores - softer this time - filled the space.

"Could you help me, please? I left my cane upstairs." It was cheap trick, but she couldn't resist Sommer's request. Sommer had the layout of the base down cold - she used her cane out of habit more than necessity - but if she were feeling as out of sorts as she looked, she needed some extra help.

Abby crossed to her, climbing a couple of steps and putting her hand on Sommer's forearm. "Here, Sommer, this way." Together, they navigated the nominal living room space and headed for the kitchen. It was next to Sommer's workbench, and, once there, she walked on her own, drawing her fingers along the table.

"No one cleaned up," she said disapprovingly as she seated herself on one of the stools facing the kitchen counter.

"It was your turn." Abby called over her shoulder as she opened the fridge and picked out another bottle of water for Sommer and one for herself. She set Sommer's down loudly, so Sommer could locate it, and crossed her arms. "But you skipped out on us."

Sommer paused with the water halfway to her lips, frowned, drank, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and tapped her fingers on the counter top. "So, how mad at me _are_ you?"

"I'm _not_," she stressed, pouting.

"Abby, it's _me._"

She snorted at this; right, it was Sommer, whom she knew _so _well, as recent events had proved. Still, she decided to be honest. "A bit." She let this sink in and added, "I'm just surprised you didn't say something."

"Abby, I haven't been keeping it a secret about Dex and I."

Frustration spiked, helped along by her cranky, creaky body. Now that she was face-to-face with Sommer, she _was_ getting mad. "Oh? Haven't been keeping it a secret? How come I didn't know?"

"We've been discreet, Abby, not secretive. I have Zoe to worry about."

"Bullshit," she swore. "Zoe's a smart kid, Sommer. She wouldn't have any problem with you seeing someone else."

"But that's just it," Sommer shrugged holding out her hands, palms up, a gesture of resignation. "I'm not really _seeing_Dex. Oh, that sounds silly." She laughed, wincing at the noise and sipping her water. It was gratifying to know that Sommer had a hangover, too.

"Then what you do call it?"

"Abby, you're not a child. Hell, _Zoe_'s not a child. You know what I'm doing. I'm a healthy human being, and sex is something I need in my life to keep me sane."

"So it doesn't matter who you're with so long as you get fucked?" Abby spat, venomous, immediately regretting it when Sommer's eyebrows settled into a hard line on her forehead. "Sorry."

"You should be," Sommer sniffed, sounding congested and wounded. "I know we were having fun last night, Abby, but you're the _last_ person I would have thought would be yelling at _me_ for my appetites."

"Hey!" She hissed. "You watch it, Sommer."

"Why? Because you can't handle the fact that you were a bit dim about Dex and I? So what? You didn't notice, that's it. That's no reason to fly off the handle and call me a whore, Abby." Sommer took a shaky breath, nostrils flaring widely as she struggled to control herself. "I am fucking Dex, yes, but that is it. I'm still not ready to commit to anything. You, of all people, should understand why."

Yes, she could, and she felt like an idiot and a _bitch_ for throwing this in Sommer's face. Sommer's husband of six years - a man she'd known and loved and trusted - had tried to feed her and her daughter to vampires. She'd been the one to hold Sommer together when she and an infant Zoe first arrived at the Nightstalker compound.

"It's just easier for me, for us, if we didn't make a big thing of it, okay?" Sommer's face fell, tremulous and distraught. "I assumed you all knew and were just pretending not to. It was easy that way because no one expected anything of us."

"Expected anything of you?"

"Yes," Sommer nodded, soberly. "If we were going out, there would be rules and procedures. Things are a lot less definite while we're just friends with benefits." Sommer rubbed her forehead. "Does any of this make sense?"

"Maybe, a little." Actually, it made a _lot_ of sense, but she smarted too much to admit it. "But is that all you are?" Dex had been particularly solicitous of Sommer during their game, and the affection - on his side at least - had been real.

Sommer shrugged. "I don't know, Abby. I really don't. Maybe, maybe in the future there will be more, but I'm not ready now. I have Zoe to worry about and Daystar. Dex is a distraction I need to stay sane, but for right now, that's all he is: a pleasant distraction."

"Sommer, you can't turn your life off for this. You're allowed to be happy."

"Oh really?" Sommer tilted her head towards her. "Then what's your excuse for being so miserable?"

"I'm not miserable," she said, immediately defensive.

"Abby, you can't lecture me on not letting work interfere with my life. When was the last time you got laid?"

She guffawed incredulously at this, shaking her head. "That's how we define having a life?"

"It's a 'for instance.' Think about it. When's the last time you sought out a flesh-and-blood human being for reasons unrelated to hunting vampires? When did you last go out just to have _fun_?" Sommer clutched her robe tighter around her as no answer was forthcoming. "I think I've made my point."

"I like my life."

"And I like mine the way it is, too. This is how I deal with my neuroses, Abby. You have the right to deal with yours as you see fit, and so do I."

"And that means not telling your best friend something as big as you having a fuck-buddy?" Back on track again, her hurt returned full force. "You didn't trust me."

"I told you, I thought you knew."

"But you didn't think to check. To _tell_ me."

"What do you want from me, Abby?"

"I want you to _talk_ to me, damn it!" She brought her fist down hard on the counter top, rattling a silver set of salt and pepper shakers. Across the room, King sat up on the couch, peering over at them.

"Whassat?" He slurred, clearly not entirely awake.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep." To her great surprise, he did just that, falling back down out of sight behind the couch. She waited for his snores to resume before turning back to Sommer. She cleared her throat and nodded. "Go on."

"Abby, I can't make this right with you if you're determined to stay mad at me."

"I want you to be able to tell me things, Sommer." And that _was_ all she wanted. She didn't want to be out of the loop. All her life, it felt like people she loved kept secrets from her. Her mother kept her father's identity a secret. Her father had tried to keep his business from her. Sommer left her out of the loop on her life. Even fucking _King_ did it - hinting at what she didn't know and telling her it was none of her business. It _hurt_, damn it all. What, did she have 'unable to cope' branded on her somewhere?

"Okay."

She blinked at Sommer, momentarily at a loss. "Okay?"

"Okay. I'll make you a deal."

"Deal?" Maybe it was the full weight of exhaustion and post-binge come down, but she couldn't process these seeming non sequiturs of Sommer's.

"Like the Army its 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy, only backwards. If you want to know, ask me. I promise I'll tell you anything you want to know. But," Sommer wagged a finger at her, "you have to do the same."

Despite herself, her hangover, and the serious subjects at hand, Abby laughed. "This sounds like the stupid game King made us play."

Sommer giggled, coughing and spluttering as water went down the wrong way. "Sort of, only this is between us."

"Okay," Abby nodded, still chuckling.

"Let's start now," Sommer said, rubbing her bottom lip with her thumb, covering a wicked smile. "How far did you two get on the couch just now? Do I need to have it shampooed?"

"Sommer!" Abby gaped, giddy and embarrassed. Her first instinct was to deny any knowledge, but Sommer's smile was too knowing. Sommer would know by sound or by touch that neither of them had made it up to the dormitory last night. Better to tell the truth, no matter how suspicious it seemed on its own - it would be better than trying to lie to Sommer. "It's not like that, not like you and Dex."

"I dunno," Sommer mused, grinning openly, "You two sounded pretty cozy."

Abby opened her mouth to speak and shut it in a hurry, considering this. "Hey."

"Hey what?"

"How long were you standing there anyway?"

"Long enough to know you're mad he doesn't remember something from last night." Sommer held up her hands, a placating gesture meant to forestall the apoplectic denial Abby was choking on. "It's okay, I get it. He's amusing enough, and definitely inventive. Never underestimate the skills of a flexible, experienced man."

Abby rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself even though Sommer couldn't see. "If you get bored with Dex, I'll let him know you'd be interested."

"Bitch," Sommer snapped, without any irritation or spite. They giggled together, finishing their waters. "Are you going to wake him up again, get him to go to bed? _Take him with you?_" Sommer whispered, conspiratorially.

"No, I'll let him sleep." As an afterthought, Abby left Sommer, walked back to the couch to pluck the ibuprofen from the small table next to the couch, returned to the kitchen, and handed it to Sommer. The disheveled doctor twisted off the child-proof cap with some difficulty, her normally nimble fingers sluggish and clumsy. She tapped the bottom until a couple of tablets fell into her palm.

"So."

Wearily, she repeated after Sommer, "So?"

"_Did_ anything happen?"

"Sommer, Jesus," she snorted, pinching the bridge of her nose against her headache. "_Nothing_ happened. We're not off to a great start if you won't believe me when I tell you the truth." Never mind she was lying by omission, it was still mostly the truth.

"Come _on_, Abby. Tell me you weren't the slightest bit interested."

"Maybe. I'm human."

"Mmm," Sommer licked her lower lip.

"Mmm? Penny for your thoughts?"

"Well, I was just thinking if you weren't using him, I might have to borrow our new friend."

She couldn't repress a chuckle at this. "_Sommer_, you've got Dex."

"I told you, it's not like that."

"Doesn't matter. Don't be selfish." She clapped her hand over her mouth; God, had she really just said that? Sommer sniggered. "Stop it!"

"You're in denial, Abby. It's a theme with you."

"Oh?" She drummed her fingers testily on her hip. "What am I in denial about now?"

"That you're the teeniest bit attracted to our latest member."

"Oh that," she laughed wheezily. "I admit that. He's good looking enough. He's filled out some, thanks to Dex and me."

"And that's all?"

"Yes," she nodded emphatically even if Sommer couldn't see; it strengthened the firmness and resolve of her words, which Sommer _would_ notice. "I'm not...I'm not _blind_, Sommer-" Sommer smirked "but I'm not a hormonal wreck."

"God, if I went as long as you have without getting laid, I would be."

"Lucky for you it's not a problem."

"Ah, there's the Abby I know and love." Sommer pushed away from the counter, leaving her empty bottle behind. "And with that, I am going to get some more sleep."

"Morning, Sommer." Abby picked up both plastic water bottles and tossed them in the recycling; when she turned around, Sommer had yet to depart. "Something else? Did you miss needling me about something?"

Sommer frowned. "We _are_ cool, right?"

"I'll get over it, Sommer. We'll work it out. Now is not the time." Truthfully, she wasn't cool with this yet. It would take time, time to test out the boundaries of their new pact, their willingness to share with each other, the details in question to be shared. Sommer understood this in the silence and without saying another word, she left, occasionally placing a hand out to touch an obstruction here or there, preternaturally knowing every possible roadblock, much recovered already from her earlier disorientation. Once she was sure Sommer had made it up the stairs all right, Abby walked back over to the couch.

King lay on his back, neck on the arm rest, chin pointed up at the ceiling, mouth partially open. She played with the very ends of his hair, which were loose now that a day's wearing had exhausted the holding power of his hair gel. Though it looked good spiked up, his hair was softer and silkier to the touch without product. It wasn't fair - his hair was thick and gorgeous and sleek without effort, and hers was limp and thin and neither straight nor curly without a lot of work. This thought made her suddenly self-conscious; her hair was probably a fright right about now.

The afghan was at King's waist because he'd sat up and laid back down without fixing it, so she moved to draw it up again. But once the edge of the blanket was in her hands, she couldn't move, only stare and burn inside from Sommer's teasing. So he was cute, especially asleep. So what? Of course, he was cuter asleep - he couldn't talk if he wasn't awake. Recovering, she drew the afghan up again, stepping away until the backs of her knees found the edge of the low table, and she sat down hard.

There were three choices for the rest of her morning. One, she could stay awake and get over the achier, lingering aspects of her hangover and mock Hedges and Sommer for still being sickly. Two, she could go upstairs and get some sleep herself, recover from her binge that way and take the edge off her exhaustion. However, alcohol had robbed her of deep sleep, and Hedges' tendency to snore had kept her up many a night when they were both _sober_; she shuddered to think of what it would be like now, especially if King, normally silent, was snoring - though he seemed to have stopped now.

Three...well, the third option might let her sleep at the cost of her pride. She could climb back on the couch and take a few sly jokes on the chin later in the day. It grated, just thinking of what Hedges would have to say, or of how Dex would have a smirk stuck on his face for a day, or, worse yet, of Zoe possibly walking in on them on her way to early morning cartoons. On the other hand, before his snores had woken her, she had slept soundly next to King, lulled into sleep by the steady rhythm of his body. It was very tempting. It was a horrid abuse of their friendship, perhaps, but it _was_ so tempting.

Fuck it. If King had a complaint, she'd certainly hear about it enough times to compensate for this minor infraction. She paused, fiddling with the edge of her shirt before deciding to remove her shoes and, as a favor, his as well. Ever-so-cautiously so as not to wake him, she squeezed into the space between him and the cushions. Lifting the afghan, Abby slid under it, facing away from him.

He stirred behind her, the arm under her pulling away as he lifted his head. She could picture him squinting at the back of her head. "Abby? Why'd you come back here? Go to bed."

"I'm not putting up with Hedges." His chuckles tickled the back of her neck. "So continue to behave, and let's just get through the morning, okay?"

He sputtered tiredly, "Behave? I'm not the one who..."

"Whatever," she cut him off. They could get into his grievances another time; she'd had quite enough drama for one morning, and if he refused to get into some things, he could just as easily content himself with not discussing _any_thing. "Just shut up and let me sleep."

"You're the boss." He readjusted, lying on his side to give her a little more space, which she appreciated, and draping his arm over her waist, which she did not. They weren't drunk any more, so that wasn't going to fly.

"Move that arm or I'll throw you over the couch with it."

"Whistler, compromise or I'm throwing _you_ off _my_ couch and making you sleep with the jackhammer upstairs." She relented, saying nothing more. "Good morning." And he was out like a light.

"Morning," she growled back, jealous of the ease with which he slid into unconsciousness. Even without actively trying to be a jackass, he could still piss her _off. Never have I ever wanted to kill a man for sleeping, _she thought, her brain inanely playing all by itself with nothing to drink.

Damn infectious fucking game.


End file.
